


made of war

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Stop,” Echo whispers, and it’s so breathless and heartbroken that Fives has to fight back the burn in his eyes. “Don’t. I know you,” And that stings, just a little, because if Echoknewhim, he would know that he didn’t want this, didn’t want Echo tohurthimself, make himselfbleed. “And this is not your fault.”
Relationships: CT-21-0408 | Echo/CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120





	made of war

He tells himself it will go away, this awful urge to somehow make things _right,_ to inflict on himself pain for his failures. And, for a while, it works.

He only tries it once. And the relief that comes over him is heady, a sharp contrast to the guilt and mistakes that he’s carried around for so long. He’s seen blood before, but the way it swirls down the ‘fresher drain, a whirlpool of crimson, almost hypotonic, is enough to make the tension bleed from his muscles.

But one time is not enough. He does it again, and again, and again, until his arms are crisscrossed with the consequences of his actions and he has to take extra care to use the ‘fresher showers when everyone else is asleep. Because no one can know his secret, and he doesn’t plan on telling anyone.

It doesn’t get bad until a mission goes wrong. It’s the Citadel. While trying to _save_ the ship, he’d done nothing but jumped in the way of a blaster bolt. Literally. And the worst part? He was fine. Only a few minor burns along his calves and back, where the worst of the explosion had caught him. It’s frustrating. And then that itch is back, that desire to make himself _bleed._

He allows it to take over. And by the time he’s done, he stares down at the gash on his wrist in shock.

_I didn’t mean to do that much._

Blood gurgles from the wound, thick and dark, and he drops his vibroblade in surprise.

He doesn’t expect hands to wrap around his arms. Fives yanks a towel from a hook on the wall, wraps it tightly around his wrist, and then starts leading him out.

He finds himself following without much thought.

* * *

Fives knows Echo.

Knows him like he knows his blaster, like he knows the weight of his armor and the cute little frown that always crosses the other’s face when he’s reading over the latest holonet articles. He knows every inch of bronze skin, every raised, puckered scar and every spot that makes Echo practically melt against him.

So when Echo starts taking longer and longer in his showers, and starts taking them alone, he knows something is wrong. He, stupidly, pushes down his misgivings when Echo seems happier. In fact, after those long, strangely quiet showers, he seems to be more relaxed and at peace.

If Echo is happy, Fives is happy, so instead of asking, instead of voicing his concern, he smiles at him, and he smiles back.

Fives loves him.

But then the showers get longer. The peace that had seemed to come so easy to Echo is now nonexistent, and instead of emerging refreshed and calm, he comes out looking haggard and increasingly more agitated.

Fives doesn’t actually _see_ them until they’re eating in the mess one day. The sleeve of Echo’s blacks ride up slightly, his gloves disposed of in favor of eating with his hands, and it’s pure luck when Fives glances down and sees the crusted blood. He’d forced his eyes away from the sight, his food turning to ash in his mouth. There’s a small, scared part of him that wants to say it’s just a cut, just a simple wound that Echo probably acquired from a sharp edge on a ship, or maybe a piece of shrapnel on the last mission. But the wound is too precise, too straight and _clean cut_ to be anything but intentional.

He watches him closely after that, and if Echo notices anything when Fives makes a point to always be by his side, to never leave him in a room alone, he says nothing.

But then the Citadel happens, and Fives can practically feel the agitation and desperation that oozes from Echo in _waves._ He watches Echo disappear into the ‘fresher, waits no longer than a minute, and then he’s following, ignoring the odd looks the others in Torrent throw his way as he shakily slaps at the control panel to the ‘fresher.

He sees blood.

Blood and Echo.

He tries to remain calm, tries to be rational, but Echo is unresponsive, not answering any of his blurted questions and hurried comforts, staring at his own wrist with something akin to surprise. Fives grabs the closest thing he can find: A towel, and then he’s hastily wrapping it around his wrist and tugging him out. The infirmary has never felt so far away.

* * *

“What happened?” Kix immediately demands, grabbing Echo and pushing him onto a nearby table.

“I don’t know.” Fives says, but he _does, oh he does,_ and then his stomach is roiling and he makes it to the closest waste bin before emptying the contents of his stomach.

When he looks back up, Kix has Echo laid back and is in the process of peeling back the towel. He sees the moment that it registers with the medic, sees the way he tenses and then glances at Echo. Echo avoids his gaze, looks a little sick himself, and then Fives is stumbling back over, vacating Echo’s other side.

Kix recovers quickly. “Fives, grab the gauze. Third shelf on the left.” Fives obeys, tosses it to him, and Kix catches it easily. He’s about to wrap the wrist when Echo finally makes a noise, soft and nearly inaudible, but Fives is leaning down.

“What?”

And then Echo looks at him, his eyes watery and indescribably sad, and Fives’ heart breaks just a little more. “‘m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Fives assures.

“‘m so sorry.” Echo repeats, his voice _raw,_ before wincing as Kix wraps a bandage tightly around his arm.

And Fives... doesn’t know what to say. Because part of him is angry, angry at himself for letting this get out of hand, angry at Echo for abusing his body, the body that Fives had practically _worshipped,_ angry at the war, for driving him to such lengths, but the other part of him is absolutely _terrified._

Terrified that Echo could leave him, _would_ leave him, in a moments notice if the opportunity arose, terrified that he’ll be the last Domino standing, terrified that all the whispered praises, all the flirty compliments had meant _nothing._ Maybe he hadn’t said them _enough,_ maybe that’s what was wrong. Maybe, somehow, he had-

“Stop,” Echo whispers, and it’s so breathless and heartbroken that Fives has to fight back the burn in his eyes. “Don’t. I know you,” And that stings, just a little, because if Echo _knew_ him, he would know that he _didn’t want this,_ didn’t want Echo to _hurt_ himself, make himself _bleed._ “And this is not your fault.”

It is. It’s entirely his fault, entirely his fault for not telling Echo _every day_ how important he was to him, how much he loved him, how beautiful he was, how smart and compassionate he was, and Fives will never forgive himself for that. But he smiles. Because he’s always been the best liar out of the two of them, and when he grabs Echo’s other hand- _the one that’s not currently wrapped in a thick layer of bandages, the one that’s not still covered in drying, flaking blood-_ he squeezes it tightly.

“We can do this.” He says, more to himself than anything, and Echo gives him that _stupid smile,_ the one that always made him smile right back, except this time it’s different- forced- but Fives will take it over Echo’s _frown_ any day.

“Yeah.” Echo murmurs, and he glances down at his wrist. “We can.”

Fives doesn’t comment on the lie.

* * *

Echo knows that he needs to find another way to release his pent up energy. He knows this. He does. He also knows that if he starts his little _habit_ up again, Fives, Kix _and_ Rex will be up his ass about it. He’s done so good- _Fives told him so-_ and he’d resisted every urge so far. He’s lasted all of two months. He should be _over_ this.

Echo goes to the gym. It’s not usually his thing, but his heart is pounding in his _skull,_ his skin crawling and hands itching for a weapon that he _knows_ he shouldn’t have. He sucks in a sharp breath, goes to the punching bag in the corner, and wraps his hands sloppily before starting. He knows he has no rhythm, knows that his form isn’t at its best, but all he cares about is just _resting_ and _relaxing,_ something that, as of late, he can’t do. The workout doesn’t help his dilemma at all.

He stops, however, when he’s winded, and he just stands there a moment, panting with eyes closed. The feeling has only grown.

With a frustrated howl, he kicks the bag as hard as he can, satisfied when he feels it give way beneath his foot. He leaves, after that, ignores the small voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Rex telling him to go clean up his mess. No, instead, he goes to Fives. Because he’d told him, had said over and over again that he would be there, that if he ever got the urge again, to come to him.

The barracks are dark, most of the _vode_ asleep, and Echo carefully navigates his way to the bunk that he knows is there. Fives stirs when he slides into bed beside him, before his eyes open. They immediately sharpen in worry.

“Echo?”

Echo shakes his head, presses closer, so close that they’re pressed flush together, and then he tucks his face into Fives’ neck and just _breathes,_ nice and slow, inhaling Fives’ heady scent and letting it wash over his coiled muscles. It helps, just a bit, and when one of Fives’ hands come to rest between his shoulder blades, he makes a content noise, pleased when Fives starts to rub soothing circles against his skin. There’s another hand, holding lightly at his waist, keeping him close, and he slowly allows the tension to ease from his body.

“You know,” Fives’ murmurs softly, his throat a vibration against Echo’s forehead. “That you’re my everything, right?”

Echo does know that. Fives has told him enough, has whispered it to him so many times that he feels like he’ll never forget, and he nods, just slightly, feels sleep prying at his eyes.

“Don’t leave me.”

Echo opens his eyes at that, presses closer to Fives. “Never,” he whispers against his skin.

“I can’t do this without you.” Fives’ hold tightens just a hair, desperate, and Echo relaxes into it, humming when a soft kiss is brushed against his temple.

“Then it’s a good thing you won’t have to.”

**Author's Note:**

> why do i always write oneshots at night when i’m in my feels? i have no idea, but one day i may figure it out. enjoy this hastily written vent, and forgive any grammatical errors. the summary is actually a poem, so not all credit goes to me. thank you for reading lovelies, and stay safe!


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